Breaking Faith

by Jo Bannister

  But even through the mayhem he seemed able to recognise that if Daniel wasn’t a friend he was probably the closest thing he had to one; if he wasn’t a counsellor he talked some sense; and if he threw him out he’d be back where he’d been half an hour ago, bouncing round his big house, angry and afraid. He took a long breath, and if it wasn’t exactly steady it was steadier than what had gone before. ‘You want to help? I could use some help. Start by telling me why the police have arrested Eric.’

  ‘I don’t think they have,’ said Daniel.

  Fry’s mood was on a knife-edge. He actually bared his teeth. ‘They’re downstairs with him now …’

  ‘Exactly. They had you down at the police station for a couple of hours yesterday but they didn’t arrest you. If they’d arrested him I don’t think they’d still be here.’

  ‘Then what – ?’

  ‘It’s an interview. It isn’t very pleasant, is it? Not the way Superintendent Deacon does it.’ There was an amused glint in his eye as he glanced at Brodie but she didn’t argue. She knew Jack Deacon had given Daniel hard times. She also knew that Daniel had given Deacon some. These days she let them sort out their own differences: if they couldn’t, if they ended up hating each other’s guts, it was unfortunate but needn’t affect her relationship with either of them.

  ‘And you didn’t send them here?’

  Even Daniel ran out of patience eventually. ‘Jared, what exactly do you think I am? An Assistant Chief Constable in a really good disguise? I’m not tall enough to be a policeman! Can we try to stay on nodding terms with reality here? If you think Jack Deacon does what I tell him, that stuff’ – he glanced at the tray – ‘has eaten up more of your brain than I thought.’

  ‘Then why won’t he leave us alone?’ It was a child’s wail in a man’s voice.

  ‘Because he found a body in your back garden!’

  It was the wrong thing to say. It reminded Fry of his grievance. He swung on Brodie as if she’d carefully Tippexed the information out of the property details. ‘This is your fault. If you’d found what I asked for, and Eric hadn’t been horny enough to take anything you offered, we’d never have come here. Your boyfriend would be turning somebody else’s life upside down!’

  Some criticism, some insults, Brodie could take with equanimity. Not many, to be sure, but some. But criticising her professionalism was almost like disparaging her child. She swelled with indignation. ‘I found you exactly what you asked for. To the cellar; to the trees in the garden. Such a long and foolish list I have never seen in my life, but somehow I managed to find you a property with everything on it. If you still didn’t like it you shouldn’t have bought it. Only you were too idle to actually look at it before you signed on the dotted line!’

  ‘What are you talking about,’ yelled Fry, close enough in her face for her to smell the sourness on his breath, ‘cellars and trees? I wanted a swimming pool. The only thing I particularly wanted was a swimming pool. Eric wanted space for a studio, and he may have cared about things like security and privacy, but trees? Do we look like tree-huggers?’

  Brodie didn’t believe this conversation. She shook her head fiercely. ‘Listen, Mr Fry, I don’t know how the two of you came up with the list of your requirements. Maybe it was a joint effort and you’ve forgotten – which, let’s face it, would not be that surprising – or maybe Eric compiled it on the basis of what he thought you needed rather than what you said you wanted. I don’t know. I don’t even care. But I have the original in my office, with his signature on it, and I can tell you right now there is no mention of a swimming pool. He got what he asked for. As for you – I don’t know what you want any more.’

  ‘No?’ Fry fired back. ‘Well, it so happens I can help you with that. I can tell you exactly what I asked for, because I wrote it down.’ He yanked out the table drawer viciously enough for the contents to spill across the floorboards. Among them was a small hardbacked ledger. He snatched it up and threw it into her lap so roughly that she covered her face with her hands. ‘See for yourself.’

  She was minded to throw it right back at him. But when she realised what it was, curiosity stopped her. She was holding something that many people considered priceless – the songbook of a rockstar, the place where music worth millions had its genesis. If her daughter ever asked how it felt to hold Jared Fry’s songbook, she didn’t want to have to confess that she didn’t really know, she only had it for a second before throwing it at his head.

  And then, she wanted to be able to call him a liar. She opened the book, looking for what he said was there.

  ‘Daniel,’ she said quietly after a moment. ‘Look at this.’ He got up and came to read it over her shoulder.

  Fry hadn’t invented it: it was a house-hunter’s wish-list. Two people had worked on it: two hands and two pens had contributed their suggestions. A lot of it was scrawled in a thick black nylon-tip. Brodie flicked through the ledger and found most of the contents were set down in the same way. That was Jared Fry. Adding to the list, and in places amending it, was a ballpoint wielded by a more precise hand.

  ‘Chandos?’ asked Daniel.

  Fry shrugged and nodded. Then he pointed. ‘See?’

  The first item on the list, in large black letters, was Swimming pool.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Brodie blankly. ‘This bears no resemblance to the list I was given. If I’d seen this list I’d never have suggested The Diligence.’

  She looked to Fry, but there was no answer in his expression. He didn’t believe in her list. She looked at Daniel.

  Daniel knew she had neither imagined it nor remembered wrong. ‘There were two lists,’ he said simply.

  Brodie was looking at him as if he was mad. ‘Why?’

  But Daniel didn’t know either. ‘Because this was the sort of place Chandos wanted, but he didn’t think he could persuade Jared to buy it?’

  Brodie was nodding slowly. ‘I suppose. God knows, Devious is his middle name. He could have compiled two lists: the one in the book, so Jared believed his requirements were being taken into account, and the one that he gave to me. The amount of interest Jared was taking in the purchase, he was never going to realise he’d been conned until it was too late. And then’ – she glared at him – ‘he was going to blame me.’

  Daniel was still troubled. ‘Chandos doesn’t strike me as a man who’d care so much about where he was going to live that he’d think it worth lying about.’

  ‘He isn’t.’ Fry’s gaze was autocratic. ‘But then, I don’t think he’s the one who’s lying.’

  Brodie gritted her teeth and tried to remember the nice big cheque he’d signed for her.

  Daniel paid them no heed. He was trying to work this out. ‘So Chandos wrote up a list of features distinct from the one he and Jared worked on, and he gave it to you and sent you off house-hunting with it.’

  ‘Because he wanted a house like The Diligence,’ said Brodie.

  ‘No,’ said Daniel, and his voice was thin as if he was surprising himself. ‘Because he wanted The Diligence.’

  Brodie frowned, deeply sceptical. ‘The place wasn’t even for sale then.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t. But it was in the news. The planning application, remember? Chandos had seen it, he thought there was every chance you would have too.’

  If anything, Brodie’s puzzlement was deepening. ‘What are you saying? That Eric decided Jared was going to buy this place, then gave me a wish-list that could only be met here?’

  ‘I think so, yes. You said yourself, the requirements you were given it was a miracle you found anywhere to match them. Well no, it wasn’t a miracle: the list was carefully tailored to minimise the competition.’

  ‘And if I hadn’t seen the story about The Diligence?’

  ‘Knowing what’s going on is part of your job,’ said Daniel. ‘But if you had missed it he’d have found some way to casually draw your attention to it.’

  ‘But why?’ demanded Brodie.

  ‘
Because he didn’t want his fingerprints on it. He wanted it to be someone else’s suggestion.’

  Fry didn’t even believe in a second list, but if there was one he didn’t understand the reason for it any more than Brodie did. ‘You’re saying Eric wanted this place so much he was prepared to lie to me to get it.’ Daniel nodded. ‘I’m with her. Why?’

  Daniel watched him for some indication that actually he knew, but there was none. ‘Brodie, would you nip downstairs and get Jack?’

  The words were casual enough. But when Brodie went to ask why his eyes stopped her dead. ‘All right,’ she said demurely, heading for the door.

  When she was gone Fry relaxed a little. He sat down wearily on the sofa. All the fury, and the energy it had fuelled, had dissipated, leaving him tired and uncertain. ‘You’re wrong about this. Why would Eric want to come here? And if he did, why wouldn’t he just tell me? I always end up doing what he wants. He knows that.’

  Daniel’s voice was quiet, apologetic. ‘He wanted you to buy The Diligence because he knew what was in the garden. And …’ He left the sentence unfinished.

  They’d come too far for that. ‘And?’ prompted Fry.

  ‘And he didn’t want you to know who turned you in.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It was a long time since Jared Fry had had any colour to speak of. The living-dead make-up that was part of his stage persona was a flattery: when it came off he looked more corpse-like than ever.

  Even so, whatever blood the heroin had spared him left his cheeks now. ‘You think I killed her. That I killed her, and Eric knew. That eight years of protecting me were enough, and when he saw a chance to get the truth told he took it.’ His voice was ghostly with shock.

  Daniel nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re wrong. I didn’t know Sasha Wade, and I didn’t kill her.’

  ‘But Jared – would you even know?’

  ‘That I’d killed someone? Murdered a nineteen-year-old girl? Of course I’d know!’

  ‘Do you remember threatening Brodie?’ No answer came. None was needed: the look in the other man’s eyes was enough. Daniel explained. ‘When you went to her office you were as high as a kite and you told her to leave Chandos alone. You said if she didn’t you’d burn her house down.’

  No one’s that good an actor: plainly Fry had no recollection of making the threat. He gasped for breath like a flying fish on the deck of a Whitbread racer. ‘I said that? Why am I not behind bars?’

  Daniel sighed. ‘Because she didn’t think you meant it, she didn’t think you’d remember saying it, and she didn’t think you’d be capable of doing anything about it even if you did.

  ‘Maybe she should have told the police anyway. Maybe I should. We didn’t know, then, that there was any connection between you and the dead girl. Even so, maybe we shouldn’t have let it pass. Not everyone who makes threats will become violent, but most people who become violent first made threats.’

  Fry was shaking his head in slow disbelief. ‘I don’t remember. I really don’t remember.’

  ‘I know,’ said Daniel. ‘Look, you didn’t hurt Brodie, you didn’t try to hurt her, maybe it was – literally – poppycock. But if you can forget that, that happened four days ago, why do you think your memory of eight years back can be trusted?’

  ‘There’s a difference,’ struggled Fry. ‘Between saying something stupid and picking up a rock and beating someone’s head in! If I’d done that, I’d remember.’

  ‘Is that how she died?’ asked Daniel softly.

  ‘I don’t know!’ shouted Fry. ‘It was – an example. Words. Words I can do – at least, I could once. But killing somebody? I wouldn’t know where to start.’

  ‘By picking up a rock in the heat of the moment.’

  ‘I don’t know she was killed with a rock!’ yelled Fry.

  Footsteps on the stair and Brodie was back, alone. She sidled diffidently over to Daniel and whispered in his ear.

  He turned to look at her. His face was blank. ‘What?’

  ‘I said,’ she repeated with a kind of embarrassed restraint, ‘he was out of the country when the girl went into the ground. And he had been for a week.’

  It was as if he’d reported spotting a new comet only to have it come off when he polished his objective lens. On the heels of disbelief came mortification. He didn’t know where to look, what to say. Sorry didn’t really cover it.

  All the same … ‘Jared, I’m sorry. I thought – I was afraid … I didn’ t want to believe it but the facts seemed to point that way. I’m glad I was wrong.’ He turned to leave, anticipating at every moment a furious hail of small objects, or possibly blows.

  ‘Wait.’ Fry’s voice was hard, the quiver of panic replaced by an edge of steel. ‘You aren’t going anywhere.’

  Daniel did as he was told. If Fry wanted to black his eye he thought it was the least he was owed. He’d called the man a murderer. He’d accused him of killing a teenage girl and not even remembering. If Fry wanted to beat him bloody he wouldn’t raise a hand in his own defence.

  ‘Not till we make some sense of this,’ gritted Fry. ‘You said Eric knew she was there.’

  ‘It seemed the only explanation.’

  ‘You thought that meant I’d put her there. But it didn’t. So what does it mean instead?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ admitted Daniel. ‘I thought I did but I was wrong.’

  ‘Damn sure you were wrong,’ snarled Fry, ‘but not about all of it.’ He scowled at Brodie. ‘You’re sure the list Eric gave you is different to mine?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ll print you a copy if you want.’

  He shook his head, the rats’ tails in his eyes. He didn’t want to but he believed her. ‘So why was Eric so determined to come here?’

  ‘Maybe the items on the list were things he wanted,’ suggested Brodie, ‘but wanted you to pay for.’

  Fry’s face was dark and perplexed. ‘He doesn’t use the cellar or walk in the woods, and I haven’t seen him looking at the view yet. No, Daniel’s right – he gave you that list because this was where he wanted to come. He made it impossible for you to find us anywhere else. He wanted The Diligence, only he didn’t want either of us to know that. For pity’s sake, somebody, tell me why!’

  Against his better judgement, still appalled at the magnitude of his error, Daniel was trying to find him an answer. His face wrinkled with the effort. Then it cleared.

  Brodie saw it happen. She waited for him to speak. But this time he had to be sure: he went through it in his mind time and again, looking for traps. He wasn’t accusing anyone of anything until he’d ruled out everything else.

  Finally he said, ‘There are two reasons for locking a door. To keep people in, and to keep people out.’

  Jared Fry stared uncomprehending into his face. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  Daniel tried again. ‘Hidden things have a habit of getting found. If you desperately need something to stay hidden you have two options. You can put it somewhere so remote that hopefully no one will ever look there. Or you can keep it close by, watch over it and make sure no one will ever look there.’

  Brodie at least was beginning to see where he was going with this. ‘Or you could do one, and afterwards realise it was a mistake. In which case, if you got the chance to put it right, you’d take it.’

  Daniel nodded. ‘He got away with it for eight years. Then he read about the plan to build more flats here. That would mean construction machinery and digging. New service pipes, more car parking, more of everything. A massive risk that she’d be found. But also an opportunity he’d never have again. Once he moved Jared in here he could make sure no one dug in the garden. At least, he thought he could.’

  ‘But he didn’t want anyone to know that buying The Diligence was his idea,’ Brodie continued slowly, working it out, ‘because one day the worst could happen. If she was found, he wanted it on record that it wasn’t his idea to come here. So he hired me and
provided me with a list of requirements that could hardly be satisfied anywhere else.’

  Now even Fry was catching up. ‘You’re saying … Eric killed this girl? Why?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ admitted Daniel. ‘Except I think it has something to do with that song. Crucifiction.’

  ‘My song,’ Fry said stubbornly.

  ‘Your song, her song – if we knew for sure I think we’d know why she died.’ Daniel’s gaze dropped to the sofa. ‘That’s your songbook?’ Fry nodded. ‘How far back does it go?’

  Fry gave a throaty laugh. ‘All the way. How many songs do you think I’ve written?’

  ‘So Crucifiction is in there? Can I see?’

  Fry shrugged and opened the ledger. But for a moment he seemed reluctant to pass it over. As if it was a baby and he wasn’t sure he was putting it in safe hands.

  ‘Please,’ said Daniel softly.

  Fry gave it to him. ‘Anyway,’ he said roughly, ‘if he’d gone to that much trouble Eric would hardly have let the builder dig her up after all!’

  ‘I don’t think he did,’ said Daniel absently, poring over the pages. ‘I think you did.’

  Fry shook his head. ‘I’d remember.’

  ‘No,’ said Daniel, ‘you wouldn’t.’

  She was reluctant to contradict but Brodie knew Daniel was wrong again. ‘Charlie asked Mr Wilmslow who OK’d him to dig there. He said it was Eric.’

  Daniel thought for a moment. ‘It can’t have been. Not if we’re right about any of this. Have you got your phone?’

  Daniel had called Wilmslow three times a week for months during the work on his house: the number was branded on his brain. Brodie punched it in.